Trollheart

A proposed alternative title for your journal should Brynhild ever catch you and force you at swordpoint of her many sisters to make an honest Valkyrie of her...

"The Batcave: where the Batlord sits on his Bat Throne and hatches his batschemes, providing he has first fixed that leaky tap and mowed the lawn as his wife asked him seven times already this week to, how many more time must he be asked? Oh and don't forget to pick up my dry cleaning before you waste your time on that Bathrone listening to that awful heavy metal music that rots your brain why eon't you give Taylor Swift a try she's not so bad" etc

Keep runnin' man!

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Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018

The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VII a.

Dawn came bright and early the next morning. The dawn of war. Unfortunately it was also the dawn of our hangovers. So we took the traditional Viking hangover cure. Fermented ox semen. It's not gay if it's fermented. Soon enough the army was mustered and mounted on their horses. The Army of True Metal was truly glorious to behold. Their spears and swords shone like fire in the sun. Their faces were grim and determined and filled with a longing to spill poseur blood. Their shields were emblazoned with the logos of the bands dear to their hearts. There was Exodus and Immortal and Obituary and Angra and Candlemass and Hellhammer and Godflesh and even one dude with David Bowie on his shield. Okay I guess. My shield of course bore the name of Morbid Angel. I was mounted atop Grani, Gram was at my side, and the king, Johan Hegg, was beside me. Bitchin'. Everyone knew their role, everyone knew the stakes, and everyone knew that they were riding to their deaths, so Johan made no speeches. He merely gave the order to ride and the company set out to their fate.

The army rode at an easy yet brisk pace, and it wasn't long before the usual heated debates that happen whenever True Metalheads gather together began. One man declared, "Dude, everyone knows that Black Sabbath's first album is their best. It's just got this crazy, dark atmosphere that none of their other albums have." But a second man retorted, "Fuck that shit! The first half of that album rules, but the rest of it fucking blows. Paranoid is where it's at. It's easily their most solid album." The first man snorted in derision, "Are you fucking kidding me? The second half of the debut might not be all that great, but the first half is so brilliant that it makes up for it. Just four songs of sheer perfection that are better than anything else they ever did." Then a third man chimed in, "Yeah, man. Besides, Paranoid might be solid throughout, but "Paranoid" and "Planet Caravan" shouldn't be right after "War Pigs". It just kills the whole ultra-heavy vibe and you have to wait until "Iron Man" for the album to really get going. Master of Reality is their best album. Great all the way through and it basically invented stoner metal." The second man rolled his eyes and said, "Whatever, dude. "After Forever" and "Lord of This World" aren't all that great and the whiny, Christian bullshit lyrics are fucking annoying. Then you've got two instrumentals, so you've only got like four songs that really kick ass." Now a fourth man interjected, "I think Sabotage is underrated," to which all three of the others responded, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" They would have drawn swords right there and then, but just then a scout came over the ridge in front of the army and galloped down to the king. "My lord! A poseur raiding party has attacked the town over the hill!" Enraged, Johan ordered the army to a full gallop. When we came to the crest of the hill we gazed down upon a town in ruins.

When we entered the town we saw that it had been almost entirely burned to the ground. Burned and blackened corpses lay strewn all about. It was obvious that the men had bravely mounted a hopeless defense and had been cut down to a man. The women had then been violated and slaughtered. Even the children had been shown no mercy. There was not a single thing left alive or unspoiled in the entire town. But the worst was yet to come. When we came to the center of town there was a ring of at least fifty mutilated bodies impaled upon stakes. Vultures and crows had descended on the murdured villagers and were feasting. The stench of decay was overpowering. In the middle of the hideous ring was a great pile of True Metal albums that had been burned. Johan turned to me, "These poseurs have no honor. How can we withstand such reckless hate?" I turned to him with resolve and barely suppressed rage and said, "By killing every single one of these poseur fucks! These pussies might be good at killing women and children, but an army with True Metal on its side will fuck their shit up." He nodded and said, "Fucking right! After we bury these people we're gonna go collect some poseur heads and have us a skullfuck!"

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VII b.

After the villagers had been buried Johan called the army together and spoke, "Fuck this bullshit! We left on this campaign ready to die for True Metal! Fuck! That! Shit! Now there is no fucking way that I'm gonna die before I've seen to it that every single poseur who would set foot upon this sacred land and desecrate it has tasted my fucking steel! This is no longer a last stand! This is a war of vengeance! Now let's go and kill some fucking poseurs!" When Johan had finished a great cheer rose up. "DEATH TO POSERS! DEATH TO FALSE METAL! GLORY TO THE BRAVE!" Looking over the assemblage I saw the four men who had been willing to kill each other earlier embracing. The first said, "Dude, Paranoid kicks ass!", the second, "Master of Reality is heavy as fuck, man!", the third, "Sabotage is okay!", and the fourth, "Heaven and Hell fucking rules!", and they all said, "FUCK YEAH!"

The Army of True Metal, now united and determined as never before, mounted their steeds and headed to the fortress of Wacken. After a full night and day of riding we finally came within sight of it. It was in a valley with steep sides that towered over us as we rode between them. At the end of the valley was a sheer cliff wall, and against the cliff was the fortress. A great stone wall ran from ridge to ridge and could only be attacked by frontal assault. The only way through the wall was a high, thick gate. Beyond the gate was a paved courtyard and beyond that a great tower with a view of the entire valley. When we entered the fortress there would be no escape for the only way into or out of the valley was the way that we had come in. The only way that we would be leaving this place would be by cutting our way through the poseur army that would soon be arriving. It would be a good day to die.

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VIII a.

I stood on the walls of Wacken fortress with my fellow Defenders of the Faith, gazing out at the poseur army of Metallica as it marched down into the valley towards us. The poseur army was even more vast than we had suspected. At least fifty thousand men were coming to throw themselves against the fortress. We were outnumbered ten to one. Sweet. Fifty thousand dead poseurs would be a new personal best for me. I turned to the man standing next to me, "So I hear that when poseurs play Battleship they're such pussies that they just say, 'My battleship has returned to port and the sailors are having tearful reunions with their families'." The man turned to me and responded, "I was playing Monopoly with this poseur and that bitch started crying when he got sent to jail, so I punched him in the face, took his money, and then banged his girlfriend." Then a third man spoke up, "Dude, I heard that when poseurs play Mousetrap, when they catch the mouse they stick it up their ass." Then I was like, "Naw, man. You're thinking of Richard Gere, but you have a point. That dude's done way too many movies with Julia Roberts to not be a poseur. But enough of that, the poseurs are almost here."

When the poseur army finally reached the wall the entire valley was black with their numbers. Just shy of bow range they stopped and a single poseur rider approached and spoke, "The great and valiant Lord Hetfield greets you and bids me to give you a chance to surrender! If you put down your weapons and acknowledge his sovereignty then you will be shown mercy and your lands will be safe! If you resist then you will all be destroyed and your land will run red with blood! What say you?" I came to the edge of the wall and shouted down to him, "Hey, buttwhipe! You think we're gonna trust that fucker ever again after he said that St. Anger wouldn't suck? I ain't acknowledging shit 'til Lord Homofield apologizes for that abortion! That shit gave me a ball rash! Obama needs to quit fucking around with Al-Qaeda and launch a drone strike on that threat to national security! Pedophiles are better than St. Anger! You tell that poseur fuck what I said and get the hell off my lawn!" With that our army cheered, "DEATH TO POSEURS! DEATH TO FALSE METAL! GLORY TO THE BRAVE!", and the poseur lackey fled in terror from the glory of True Metal. The poseur army now started forward and the Battle of Wacken finally began.

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VIII b.

With vile cries invoking the names of As I Lay Dying and Bullet for My Valentine the poseurs surged toward the wall in a great wave. Our archers loosed their arrows and slew many of them, but for every one that fell ten took his place. They carried with them great ladders that they pushed against the wall and crawled up like vermin. At first only a few could make it to the top of the wall, but more and more came and soon we were hard beset. I became trapped between two groups of poseurs with five men against thrice the number of poseurs. Raising Gram into the air I cried, "Killing is my business...", and my men responded, "...And business is good!", and we charged at the poseurs. They fled from us, for the poseurs of Metallica's army feared Dave Mustaine above all else and could not suffer to hear his words. We cut down many of them, but they eventually regrouped and began to push us back. But the Light of True Metal was with us and the poseurs could not stand against us for long. But as soon as we finished with these scum, more poured in and we were harder beset than ever. We readied ourselves for one final attack only to see the poseurs open a path down the middle of them and a man walk through and stalk up to us. This was no ordinary man. He was almost seven feet tall and massively built. He wore only tattered pants and a black hood. Strangest of all though was his weapon. In both hands he carried a huge chainsaw. He pulled the chord and it started up with a great roar that chilled our hearts. I turned to a man behind me, "Dude, since when do ancient, Germanic poseurs carry chainsaws?", and he said with fear in his eyes, "I don't know man, but this is some fucked up shit right here!" Suddenly, with a wordless scream of mad, animalistic rage he charged at us with his chainsaw held in the air above his head. He was much faster than his bulk suggested, and it was all I could do to roll out of the way. The man behind me wasn't so lucky. The chainsaw split him from head to wang in a spray of blood and viscera. That's a cool word. Viscera. Yeah. Dripping red and with blank, insane eyes the chainsaw wielding behemoth turned to me, swung his weapon over his head, and brought it down with bone crushing force. I managed to bring Gram up to block, but the force of the blow brought me to my knees. Sparks flew like rain as the saw tried to eat through my sword. A lesser sword would have broken, but Gram was forged by Odin himself and its holy steel snapped the saw's chain. The broken chain flew through the air and struck the monster in the face, covering it in blood. Screaming in agony and holding his face in his hands he dropped to his knees. Triumphantly I got to my feet and stood over him. I brought Gram over my head, saying, "Decapitation! It's what's for dinner!" and then I cut his head from his shoulders. My four remaining men cheered and renewed their attack. The poseurs panicked and fled with us in close pursuit. Their terror was so complete that they ran headlong into their own people causing chaos in the poseur ranks. Soon they had been driven into a tightly packed mass of confusion that we cut our way through with impunity. All over the wall panic and despair were descending on the enemy and they were being eradicated and even thrown screaming from the wall. We had driven the poseurs from the walls of Wacken.

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VIII c.

It was a hollow victory. A look beyond the walls showed that Metallica's army had been hardly diminished. It also became apparent that the assault on the wall had been a diversion. Poseurs were at the gate trying to force it open with a battering ram. The great timbers of the gate were already starting to bend and crack. Once they breached the gate there would be nothing to stop them from pouring into the fortress. Not on my watch, bitch! I rushed down the stairs and found Johan organizing the defense of the gate. When he saw me he looked relieved and said, "Dude, thank fuck you're here! The gate is about to fall and I need as many badass motherfuckers as possible to hold the poseurs off!" I threw him the horns, "Fuck yeah, dude! Any poseur that steps foot in this bitch'll get short shrift from me!" We braced the gate with great timbers to gain time while men on the walls rained arrows and boiling hot oil down on the attackers. The poseurs fell back with great losses, and the men at the gates cheered in relief. It was only a short reprieve, for one of the poseurs had an RPG and fired it at the already damaged gate. There was a great explosion and for several moments I remembered nothing. I slowly came to and realized that I was on the ground. I was dazed and only semiconscious and the only thing that I could hear was a loud ringing sound in my ears. I saw dead and dying men all around me. Some had been blown apart. Some were merely missing limbs. Some silently screamed while frantically pulling at foot long wooden splinters embedded in their flesh. I wasn't sure why this should be or what had happened to me or where I was or anything else. Then men started flooding in and killing the wounded as they silently cheered for their triumph. Then I remembered the words of the dragon Fafnir and my blood ran cold: You have long held aloft the banner of True Metal, and have bravely fought it's enemies, but your battle is doomed. Even now, the forces of false metal eat at the roots of all that you love, and, day by day, bring True Metal ever closer to its inevitable destruction. One day, you shall stand alone as the last of your kind, and shall know the taste of despair. But almost as soon as they appeared they stopped with looks of confusion and fear on their faces. Gradually I became aware of a sound other than the ringing. It was the blast of a horn. The entire valley was reverberating with the deafening sound of a great horn. I staggered to my feet and gazed at one of the ridges towering over the fortress. At the top was an army, and at its head was Joey DeMaio of Manowar.

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Trollheart

I absolutely love this! You should be a writer, although you'd probably say that was gay. Mad to find out who the guy with the chainsaw was? Thought maybe a Slipknot reference? But the crowning glory was the appearance of Manowar. Man, you have surpassed yourself! This needs to be seen by more people!

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Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018

The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part IX a.

The fortress was about to be overrun. The Light of True Metal was about to be dimmed. Everything that we had fought and died for was about to come to naught when a great horn sounded and an army appeared on the hill that towered over the walls of Wacken. At its head, proud and magnificent, was Joey DeMaio of Manowar. Behind him, rank upon glorious rank, was assembled an army of all of the great captains of True Metal with armor that reflected only the Light of True Metal. There were Bruce Dickinson of Iron Maiden and Rob Halford of Judas Priest side by side. With the stoic visage of a great king of men was Tony Iommi of Black Sabbath. With barely restrained wrath sat Kerry King of Slayer on his horse, impatient to take poseur heads. George "Corpsegrinder" Fisher of Cannibal Corpse laughed with Gary Holt of Exodus boasting that he would kill two poseurs for every one that the other slayed. Terrible to behold, with armor as black as night, was King Diamond of Mercyful Fate. Beside Joey DeMaio and proudly holding aloft the army's banner, an eagle behind a pentagram, was Oscar Dronjak of Hammerfall. Ten thousand of the greatest Defenders of the Faith the world has ever known were gathered together, the Army of the Immortals, and ready to make war upon the poseur menace in the name of True Metal. The enemy was struck dumb with disbelief and horror at this sight, for the Light of True Metal fell so brightly on these Metal Gods that they shone like the sun. Joey DeMaio raised his sword into the air and declared, "Death to poseurs! Death to false metal! Glory to the brave!" Behind him the Army of the Immortals beat their spears against their shields and echoed his cry, and we, rejoicing at this miracle joined them, "DEATH TO POSEURS! DEATH TO FALSE METAL! GLORY TO THE BRAVE!"

Joey then called out, "For True Metal, charge!" and the army surged forward down the steep slope of the hill like the thrust of a great spear. The thunder of their horses' hooves made the ground tremble. They descended on the poseurs assaulting the walls with the force of a hammer. Outflanked and caught unprepared the enemy could only be cut down and trampled. Their victory had become a rout. Some tried to retreat into the fortress in their panic, but there they found no shelter. Now recovered and remounted we ran them down and slaughtered any poseurs that stood in our way as we cut our way past the gate. The poseurs of their army's vanguard now found themselves caught between the Army of True Metal and the Army of the Immortals. Between the Hammer and the Anvil. They tried to mount a counterattack to rejoin with the rest of their army, but they were outnumbered and surrounded. For poseurs they fought valiantly, but they were soon cut down to the last man. With that we joined with the Army of the Immortals and I greeted my old friend Joey, "Dude, fuckin' hell yeah with the assist! You came just in time. We were about to kill all the poseurs ourselves and leave you with jack shit!" He laughed as he quipped, "You fucking dumbass! Why do I always have to bail you out when you're about to get your ass kicked? Do I have to show you which end of your sword to stick into the poseurs?" I woulda flipped him off, but I figured that would be ungracious given the circumstances. Then Johan rode up and hailed Joey, "Dude, kickass timing! I'd love to sit here and play grabass with you ladies, but I think we've got some poseurs to fuck up!" Throwing up the horns I said, "Fuck yeah! It's not everyday you get to kill fifty thousand poseurs," and Joey turned to me, "Dude, really? You need to get out more." We then broke up and readied to renew our attack.

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part IX b.

The poseur army was regrouping and setting up a defensive line. They drove a line of pikes into the ground pointing outward to impale our horses. But Joey held his sword into the air and the Light of True Metal shone on it so that the enemy was blinded and cast their faces into the dirt. We then drove into their ranks and the poseurs could do naught to stand against the assault of the True Faith. They tried to flee, but their army was enclosed by the steep walls of the valley and their own numbers so that there was no place to maneuver and no place to run. We slew on the left hand and we slew on the right. All who came before us fell with fear and blood. Yet the enemy was great and their numbers almost endless, and it was long ere we fought our way to the mouth of the valley, but eventually all had fallen or were fleeing except for one mass of poseurs. In the middle, mounted on four great horses, were Metallica. They had been Defenders of the Faith in days past, and a slender ray of that Light still shone even now and they refused to retreat or surrender. Their bodyguard was valiant, but even they could not long stand before us and we soon breached their line. While these forces fought fiercely Johan Hegg, Joey DeMaio with his bannerman, Oscar Dronjak, and I rode before Metallica and halted.

They were proud and scornful and gazed at us with wrath. As if by tacit agreement we all dismounted and faced one another. Joey with head held high and his sword held at his side squared off with Robert Trujillo saying, "You were a fool to sell out and side with these poseurs. I'll show you what a real bassist looks like." Trujillo only smirked and drew his sword. Oscar Dronjak pointed his sword at Kirk Hammett with a challenge, "I am Oscar Dronjak, bannerman to Lord Joey DeMaio, and I shall cut you down in the name of my Lord and True Metal." Raising his sword, Hammett spoke, "I accept your challenge, cur, and I promise that this mistake shall be your last." With his sword perched on his shoulder and an amused look on his face Johan approached Lars Ulrich, "I would cut off your head, Master Ulrich, if it stood but a little higher from the ground. I guess I'll give it a shot anyway." Enraged, Ulrich retorted, "You would die before your stroke fell!" With only one opponent left I called out to James Hetfield, "You don't know how long I've waited for this, Jim. I'm gonna kill the fuck outta you for the disillusionment of my childhood!" Hetfield looked at me with mirthful contempt, "Pathetic. Losers with bad haircuts like you are a dime a dozen." With that the battle was joined. I charged Hetfield and swung Gram over my head. He blocked it one-handed and I swung again at his side, but again he blocked my stroke as if I were a child. I hacked and slashed at him but he only laughed as he easily blocked every blow. Angered, I stabbed straight for his chest, but he parried and sidestepped. I stumbled forward and he struck me in the temple with the hilt of his sword. I crumpled to the ground, my vision swimming. He laughed cruelly and mocked me, "Pathetic. Is this the best that True Metal has to offer? True Metal! Nothing but shitty music for sad rejects and angry teenagers who hate their parents. Perhaps you should grow up and stop being such a fool." I staggered to my feet and now I was the one laughing. Frowning, Hetfield asked, "And what's so funny?" and I said with contempt, "You. You're the one who's pathetic. You betrayed True metal and everything that it stands for, and for what? Money? Idiots who'd be just as happy listening to Limp Bizkit or Linkin Park or Three Days Grace? I used to hate you. Now I see that you're just sad and weak. Now I feel sorry for you. You're not even worth hating." His face twisted with rage, he attacked me with reckless abandon, but the Light of True Metal had suffused my limbs and now it was I who turned aside every one of his blows. With rage he swung with all of his strength at my head and I brought Gram up to block. When Hetfield's sword struck my own it shattered and he became off balance. With all of my strength I struck him in the face with the flat of my blade and he collapsed to the ground, his face streaming with blood. With the last of his strength he dragged himself to his knees and gazed up at me in a daze. With a smile on my face I told Hetfield, "You know all this aside, I just want to say that Master of Puppets changed my life and that I'm a huge fan!" and then I struck off his head. Then I looked to see that Joey, Johan, and Oscar had all likewise slain their foes and were smiling in weary triumph. Looking down I grasped the head by its hair, lifted it into the air, and shouted, "The poseur king is dead! Long live True Metal!" A great cheer rose from our armies, "LONG LIVE TRUE METAL!!!"

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part IX c.

The remaining poseurs were overcome with despair and threw down their weapons. But it was too late and our armies slaughtered them without mercy. After all had been hunted down Johan and Joey gathered together the armies and Johan spoke, "Glory to the brave! We are victorious! True Metal will survive in this land thanks to your resolve and your bravery! But this victory comes at a terrible price! Many of our brothers have given their lives for the cause of True Metal! We must have a moment of silence to honor the fallen!" Every Defender of the Faith lowered his head and was silent. For one minute the only sound in the valley was the low, mournful moan of the wind. Eventually Johan raised his head and again spoke, "NOW LET'S ALL GO GET FUCKING WASTED!!!" The valley that had been silent now reverberated with the cheers of fifteen thousand True Metalheads. We set about getting properly wrecked with the same determination and vigor with which we fought for True Metal. We raided the poseurs' abandoned baggage train and found ale enough to last for several days. Then a massive stage was set up before the walls of Wacken and the assembled Metal Gods let loose a torrent of metal that shook the very stones of the fortress. Before long people from all over the kingdom came to the fortress to celebrate our great victory and partake in a bacchanal the likes of which had not been seen in living memory. Thus was held the very first Wacken Open Air festival. And nobody got more shitwrecked than me. I'm pretty sure that at some point I tried to do a stage dive off the wall. Awesome. After a few too many ales I even ended up in a porta potty with Johan's fat sister, Gudrun. Fuck it. Like riding a moped you know? It was all good 'til the door busted open and who should be there but that crazy bitch, Brynhild. Trembling with rage she shrieked, "I gavest thou my body and my love! Then I awoke to find that thou hadst abandoned me! And now I find that thou art shacked up with this fat slut?!" I put up both of my hands and tried to defuse the situation. "Calm down, baby. There's more than enough of me for the both of you." And so it was.


P.S. If you wanna know how I got back to the present then you can mind your own fucking business.

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